


Seasonal Shift

by ivywatcher



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Character Study, Gen, my canon is better than their canon, post-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivywatcher/pseuds/ivywatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the year after Sunnydale, told in bits and pieces with the changing of the seasons. Life goes on, even when we don't expect it to. For Giles, Buffy, Dawn, Xander and Willow, it turns out that some things stay the same even when everything is changing. It's time to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer (Giles)

_  
**Summer**   
_

_  
**(Giles)**   
_

 

“ _All we need is the truth in our hand. Someone to call a friend. Never fear the darkness. All we need is just the sun in the sky. And the hope of a summer to come with the meaning of love.”_

 

In the end, Giles bought a house in Bath, only a few blocks away from the place he'd grown up. There were practical reasons for the choice, of course: it was just a moderate drive away from both the new Council building (which he spent nearly all his time at anyway) and the airport, and it was just secluded enough that there were no pesky neighbors to inquire into the odd guests he would undoubtedly be receiving at all hours of the day and night. The house had more room than he needed; he converted most of the extra space into guest rooms, expecting them to be filled by whomever needed them. He also took the time (and considerable finances) to renovate the old parlor into a fairly up-to-date fitness room. Even as he looked at the plans, he tried to convince himself that the room wasn't really for Buffy, and utterly failed.

The real reasons he bought the place, though, were far less logical, even if he would only admit it to himself. The house was lovely. It had an old, familiar worn feeling that he quite liked. It was homey, but in a cheerful way, and he found himself looking forward to whatever time he could find to spend at home. Perhaps most importantly, there were the remnants of a remarkable garden in the back that he spent hours (hours that he should have been using to make Council calls and read reports) restoring to its former glory. By the time summer came around, the climbing roses on the back wall were starting to bloom. The sight of them made something stir deep in Giles' chest, and it took him almost a full day to realize it for what it was: peace.

For what might have been the first time since his childhood, Giles suddenly found that he was living life. Months after Sunnydale's permanent demise, the Watcher could sleep entire nights without a single dream. He went on long walks just to enjoy the country in early summer, patrols and late nights researching far from his mind. His work at the Council was tiring, but it was largely enjoyable, not to mention vitally important. He found with some surprise that he enjoyed being the one in charge.

It was the day after this revelation that he woke up to yet another realization, one that he stumbled across unexpectedly as he wandered past the hallway of empty rooms.

Giles was lonely.

The longing for company hit him all at once, an almost physical blow that actually made him stagger for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he had been in shock for all this time. It was like he'd been sleepwalking for months, only to suddenly wake and realize that the people he loved were absent.

He knew where they were, of course; as the head of the new Watcher's Council, he was perhaps the most informed person on the planet. Still, he found himself hesitating, until another week of almost unbearable solitude forced the phone into his hand.

He paused a moment as his eyes scanned the list of numbers before him, printed out from the Council records.

Xander was the obvious choice to call first (Giles wasn't quite sure why that was true, but it was), but the young man was somewhere in Africa rounding up new Slayers, and the chances of contacting him were minimal at best. The reports he sent back to London were short and to the point, the tone far removed from the young man Giles remembered him being long ago in the Sunnydale library.

 _He's grieving_   
, Giles realized, and then he understood all at once that Xander would have to come back on his own. Giles had been there; he'd give the younger man the chance he never had to deal with pain on his own time table.

Next he thought of Willow, and his hand actually made it halfway to the receiver before he stopped to wonder whether his call would be welcome there, either. It wasn't that he and Willow didn't get along anymore, per say; more that she had grown so much over the past few months since the Calling Spell that she had been badly needed elsewhere, and thus they had lost what little closeness they had managed to gain back in Devon last year. As one of the new Council's more powerful (if not most powerful, if he was being honest with himself) spell casters, Willow had circumvented the globe more than once in the last few months. Now that she and Kennedy had finally settled in South America for a more permanent stay, he feared butting in.

Or rather, if he was going to stick to being honest with himself, he feared that Willow would pick up the phone, and he just wouldn't know who she was any more.

With the feeling of defeat building in his stomach, Giles gave a sigh and flopped into his desk chair, staring moodily at the wooden surface. After a while, he reached for the stack of postcards on the far corner and spent a minute flipping through them. Despite his mood, a smile formed as he traced the lines of Dawn's writing on the back of each one. His finger lingered on the over-sized cartoon heart she invariably used before her name at the end. Not for the first time, he felt a pang of loss that he wasn't there to see the expressions on her face as she saw the wonders of the world, and instead had to settle for imagining it through her words.

Buffy had finally made good on her promise to show her sister the world. Giles received postcards from Egypt, London, Greece, and even Disney World. The most recent ones were from Rome, and Dawn's tone seemed to suggest that they were considering settling down there, though she never said the words.

He only heard about his Slayer indirectly; mostly through Dawn, and occasionally third-hand news from Willow. He missed her, but that emotion at least was a familiar one, and he had long grown used to suffering the dull ache in his chest that surfaced whenever he thought of her. Still, he took some comfort in knowing that she was off seeing the things that he'd always wanted her to see.

But he could still hear her voice in his head on particularly lonely nights; the many arguments they'd had in those last months in Sunnydale weighed heavily between them.

He knew better than to call.

So instead he sat there, and all at once he felt very old, and very far away from those he loved.

Giles roused himself and stood. There was no point slipping back into the pall of resignation; he'd lost his taste for it. Determined to make the best of the remainder of his day, the Watcher scooped up his jacket and his keys and headed for the door. He could get his grocery shopping done now, instead of waiting until tomorrow morning.

A fraction of a second before Giles reached the door, someone knocked on the other side. For a moment he stood there puzzled, until the visitor rang the bell.

Four times. In rapid succession.

Giles had the door open before the smile had even finished forming on his face. For a beat, he couldn't believe his eyes.

His Slayer was standing on his doorstep.

He shook his head slowly. “Buffy,” he breathed. Outside of work, it was the first time he'd spoken aloud in nearly two days.

She smiled weakly, giving him a small wave. “Hey.”

He took a half step towards her, but before he could even get out the door, a brown-haired blur slammed into him from the side.

“Giles!”

Giles stumbled back a step, laughing as Dawn's embrace knocked the wind out of him. He instinctively returned the hug, tucking her head under his chin and just hanging on for a few long moments, letting her excited chatter wash right over him as he closed his eyes.

Finally, he pushed her back a bit so he could look at her. She was tan, her hair cut shorter than he remembered with highlights from the sun. There was a sparkle in her eyes that had been lacking since Joyce's death. “You look marvelous,” he told her with a smile. “Travel agrees with you.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. She looked him in the eye and he could see the shadows of Sunnydale on her face; all at once, she seemed very grown up to him. Then she smiled hugely and bounced on her toes, giving him another quick hug as he led them inside. “So, wasn't that like the hugest surprise ever? Buffy made me promise not to tell you we were coming, even though we were planning to since like last month. I even faked the last post card so you'd think we were in another country! It was totally spy-like.”

“Yes,” he managed through his shock. “Yes, I'm rather blown away. It's lovely that you're here.” He caught Buffy's eye over the teen's shoulder. “Both of you.”

Dawn stepped out of the way, leaving Giles and Buffy standing with two feet of distance between them, just looking at each other.

She looked good: healthy, fit, and tanned. There was a stillness to her form and a real warmth to her smile that made the tension in his chest unwind. “Hey,” she said again, like they hadn't been interrupted. Giles could feel the old familiar awkward feeling creeping into the silence between them. She opened her mouth to speak again. “Um, listen...”

He held up a hand to pause her. “Wait. I'm sick of this getting interrupted.” He strode forward and, with only a second's hesitation, he embraced her like he'd been wanting to do ever since he showed up on her doorstep in Sunnydale with a gaggle of potentials at his heels.

He caught her up in a bear hug, stoically ignoring her stiff frame. He silently willed her to let him bridge the distance that had been between them for too long. He felt her give a shuddering sigh, and then all at once she leaned into him. Giles squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened and rested his cheek against her crown, holding her tight against him. For a few moments, the rest of the world faded away and all of life was just this: an embrace.

He never knew how long they just stood there in the sunlight, the front door still wide open as they held each other. Finally, Dawn cleared her throat from across the room and Giles reluctantly let go, his embarrassed little smile a match for Buffy's.

He looked down at his Slayer and cupped her cheek affectionately. “I've missed you.”

She knew what he meant. “Do you have room for us?”

Giles looked at her seriously. “Always.” He went and closed the door, picking up their bags as he passed them. “Come on. I'll show you around the place.”

 

Much later, Giles found Buffy in the garden. She was sitting on the old stone bench near the back that faced the house; her legs were folded beneath her, her shoes discarded in the grass. He paused for a moment, just watching her in the mellow summer sunset. The golden light reflected off her hair, lending her a radiance he thought she quite deserved. Hesitantly, he sat beside her, one leg crossing naturally over the other. He let the memories of all the others times they'd sat this way wash over him for a few heartbeats.

“They're beautiful,” she said softly.

“Hmm?” Giles broke out of his thoughts, turning to look at her, and then following her gaze to the wall of the house, where the blooming roses climbed. “Ah. Yes, they're doing quite well.” He kept his gaze on the yellow flowers as he let out a long breath. “They were my mother's favorite,” he admitted softly. Buffy turned to look at him in surprise, but his own gaze was set past the house, in a time far removed from where they were sitting.

He continued, almost to himself, though she listened with rapt attention. “She always had something of a gift for gardening. This is the first time I've ever been able to keep one growing. The roses came with the house.” He looked over at her, and a small smile formed. “Part of the reason I bought the place, honestly.”

“I wish I could've met her,” Buffy said with a sad kind of sympathy in her eyes. “I mean, she is--”

Giles nodded to spare her saying it, eyes drifting back to the flowers before them. “Yes. For years. Long before I came to Sunnydale, actually.”

“You never talk about her.” There was no accusation in her voice, just a statement of fact.

He considered this for a moment, and then answered, quite honestly, “It never seemed like we had the time.”

Buffy made a small noise of agreement. “Eight years,” she said with something like awe in her voice. He turned to look at her again, finally giving her his full attention. Her expression was somber, now shadowed as the light began to fade. “Giles, I've known you almost half my life.”

“More like a third, really.” He remembered that first meeting in the Sunnydale High library with equal parts fondness and foreboding. “Just as long as the others,” he pointed out.

“Technically longer than my teenage sister,” she retorted. Buffy leaned back so her head was resting against the bench, turned towards him still. “Seems like longer.”

He knew what she meant. He tilted his head as well to make up for their sudden height difference. “Can you ever forgive me?”

The little smile she gave him meant she remembered the last time they'd done this. “For what?”

Giles gave a long sigh and shifted to look up at the darkening sky. “Oh, for so many things, really. For not knowing.” He glanced over at her and said the words that had been building in him for years. “I could have done better. Done    
_more_   
. For you. All of you.”

To his great surprise, she reached out a hand and laid it on his arm. “No, Giles. You were great. More than great.” She met his eyes squarely, and all at once he felt a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn't been without since that first moment of their meeting eight years ago. Buffy's smile was more full of memory than actual happiness. “You gave me a    
_life_   
, Giles. We won.    
_I_   
won. Sunnydale is toast, the Hellmouth is gone, and I get to sit in a garden in England, and watch the sun set. I get to have a beginning.” Her mouth twitched with real amusement. “Maybe I'll even get happily ever after this time.”

They both sat up, and he covered her hand with his for a moment before she returned it to her lap. Giles took a deep breath, his emotions running freely across his face. They sat there in silence for a long time, until the sky really did grow dark and the garden was cast in shadow. The light from the kitchen spilled out, and they heard Dawn moving about, banging things in the cupboards. Still, neither of them moved.

Buffy's voice was soft and hesitant when she finally broke the quiet. “Giles?”

“Hmm?” he responded contentedly.

“Would you tell me about your mom?”

He smiled, even though she couldn't see it. They had time for this, now. Time to heal, time to talk, time to find a new beginning. Time to wait until their other friends came home. He took a deep breath of the warm evening air and wondered where to start. “Alright then,” he said at last, and began to speak.

 


	2. Autumn (Buffy)

**_Autumn  
(Buffy_**)

 _“A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.”_

Wind blew against the side of the house with a whistling scream that sounded like a dying demon. The walls rattled against the blow before coming to rest again. Buffy paused at the sound, arms halfway into her coat, before recognizing it for what it was and continuing. She'd done the same thing at least a hundred times since the wind had started coming every day in Bath. It was hard to kick a lifetime (two lifetimes, technically) of habit that told you to duck and stake when you heard that kind of sound.

But she was getting better. She hadn't actually reached for a weapon to fight the phantoms in her head in weeks.

Fall in England was totally different from any that Buffy had experienced before. For starters, it was an actual season. She'd never been anywhere with leaves that really changed color with the cooling temperatures. The world turned red and gold and brown practically overnight. For the first time in her life she found herself bundling up against real weather, not just a California night chill.

Sweater, coat, scarf, hat and gloves: in that order, because otherwise she had to take the gloves off to get the rest on anyway. Buffy paused to look herself over in the mirror by the front door, and the face that peered back at her from underneath her black knit ski cap almost looked like a normal human being. It was a nice change from the just-resurrected look she'd been sporting that last year or so in Sunnydale. Buffy closed the front door behind her and turned to lock it with her key as she stepped out into the cold, damp afternoon.

As she set off down the lane to the road, Buffy breathed deep, smelling coming rain and damp leaves and decaying grass in the November air. This was the first afternoon in weeks that it hadn't rained. The trees were nearly bare, stripped of their leaves by the storms. They stood skinny and dark against the gray sky, like skeletons or grave markers.

Buffy shook her head a little. She saw death everywhere she looked these days, even when the sun was shining. Giles called it mourning. Dawn just called it morbid, and Buffy was starting to think they were both right, in one way or another.

It was like there was a gray haze around her head that made her vision swim every time she thought of Sunnydale. Sunnydale, where her mom and Tara and Anya and Jenny Calendar and too many Potentials and countless others were buried under the bleaching sun. The Hellmouth's grave markers: bones, and blood, and ash.

Ash from Spike. Brave, stupid, twisted, noble Spike. She could think of him without feeling a deep freezing in her chest now, and she knew it was a big step. She braced herself against the wind and paused at the corner of the street, turning back to look up the drive at the house.

Their house. Buffy wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but this place had become something a lot like a home, here with Dawn and Giles. She took a deep breath and shifted her weight, only daring to glance at the thought sideways for fear of it shattering.

Giles' garden was brown now, pretty much just sticks and dirt. Buffy had spent a lot of time there with him this summer, watching him work, sometimes helping him weed. They'd talked, about all kinds of things. Life things. It was something they'd never found time for before, and Buffy couldn't really remember why any more. For the first time since they'd met, Giles wasn't just her Watcher or her keeper, and she wasn't his responsibility. More than that, they weren't angry any more—at each other, or the world, or destiny, or whatever else it was that had built the walls between them for so long.

They were friends, now, and Buffy recognized that they'd paid a heavy price to finally get to this point. She found that she treasured it...and that she didn't really want to leave. Dawn was already trying to talk Giles into planting pumpkins for next year, and Buffy knew that her sister thought they'd still be here with Giles in another year. With some surprise, the Slayer realized that the idea really didn't sound so bad.

It was a good place to mourn, Buffy decided. She felt old and tired and a bit shredded on the inside, and the cold wind of the dying world felt good on her skin, like empathy. She felt a little less broken, a little less like the Slayer and a little more like Buffy every day they were here, and that was something she liked. The itch that started at the back of her skull whenever she thought about staying still was barely there these days.

The travel had been good for her, Buffy was sure, and for her relationship with Dawn. The Slayer in her had needed an outlet to burn her post-apocalyptic energy. The humanity in her had needed a reminder of the bigness of the world that they'd just saved yet again.

They'd even ended up meeting Willow and Kennedy in Greece for a week in April. It had been...well, just like old times. Which was amazing, considering. She and Willow and sometimes Dawn had wandered the little shops by the shore for hours, window shopping and getting coffees in little cafes and doing all the things they could remember dreaming about doing back in high school when they played “Anywhere but here.”

And they'd talked, too. Willow had a kind of peace now, a stableness in her that felt like balm against Buffy's ragged edges. They'd been sorry for the time to end, but Willow and Kennedy had big important Council things to do in Romania, and so the Summers sisters moved on to the next place on their list. She'd only talked to Willow a few times since then, but that was okay. If it was important, she'd call.

Still, Buffy had known somewhere in the back of her mind that it was only a matter of time before they ended up in England, where Giles had put down his roots and started up the remade Council.

They'd only meant to stay a few weeks. Giles was the head of the Council, after all--probably the official single busiest man in the world-- and they still had more places to see. But then there was local sight-seeing to do, and tours of the new Council to make, and then Giles convinced her to take on a flexible consulting position, rewriting the Slayer handbook that she'd never read to make it something worth reading for the hundreds of new Slayers around the world. She had an office at the Council building right across the hall from Giles, but she ignored it in favor of writing from her favorite window seat in the house library, surrounded by the familiar smell of Giles' books.

Buffy knew that the suggestion had probably just been the first thing Giles could think of to get her to stay, but now she was grateful for it. She liked being able to finally sit down and work out the important things—the things she wished that she'd known eight years ago, and the things that Giles wished he'd known. All put together it was a long list, and the memories were painful to dig up. Buffy thought of it as a kind of therapy: taking all the crap (and all the good things, too) of the last eight years and sorting it out into something useful. She was only half finished, and she was already making plans for a more comprehensive battle manual as her next project.

And she liked being able to walk through the Council whenever she wanted, just to keep tabs on what they were teaching the girls. Giles used her advice and suggestions to create a whole new Watcher/Slayer curriculum that went straight to the classrooms and training sessions. Buffy was relieved to see that the new recruits were getting the education that she and Giles had been forced to forge for themselves out of life-and-death experience. It was important work, and Buffy was a little shocked to find that she was good at it.

Then all of a sudden it was five months later, and with Dawn enrolled as a sophomore at a local private school, Buffy was finally starting to admit that it looked liked they'd settled down, at least for now. Dawn needed stability, and loathe as Buffy was to admit it, she probably needed a high school diploma, too. Especially since the chances of said high school trying to eat the students were a lot smaller now.

Giles had been surprisingly silent on the subject, until Buffy had finally broken down and asked him about schooling options and he'd promptly pulled out brochures from his top three choices in the area. He'd also managed to find copies of Dawn's school transcripts from Sunnydale. Buffy had the sneaking suspicion that he'd actually gotten them from Wood during their last days there and then carried them with him from the crater. It was what he did: taking care of them before they even realized they needed it.

Dawn loved the new school; being one of the only survivors from an internationally news-worthy catastrophe made her an instant celebrity with her classmates. Buffy had been a little amazed at how well her sister was settling in. But then Dawn had come home from her first weekend party, absolutely horrified at the discovery that her new friends spoke French in their off hours, and had only reverted to English for her sake.

Of course, being a Summers woman, she decided that one stupid little thing like an entire foreign language wasn't going to get in her way, now that she had real parties to go to. Buffy had looked on in shock as her sister mastered the basics of a new language so quickly that it even made Giles, her unofficial tutor, a little dizzy; apparently, peer pressure did for Dawn what fantastically boring foreign language classes had never done for Buffy. Still, she remembered just enough to be able to defend herself, and she found herself picking up more words and phrases every day. More often than not Buffy would find Dawn and Giles in the kitchen in the evenings, chattering on in French about the day and laughing themselves silly over mispronunciations as Giles put dinner on the stove and Dawn spread out her homework.

Most days, Buffy just sat with them and listened, and they had quickly learned to give her the space she needed. It was at those times, warm and safe in a house that was rapidly starting to feel like home, watching them laugh, that Buffy knew that she'd be alright. That they all would be. Someday.

Buffy physically shook off her reverie and started down the walk, head bowed into the teeth of the wind, towards the bus stop about a quarter mile down the road where Dawn's friend Leah would drop her off after school.

Dawn had mentioned getting her license this morning at breakfast. Buffy and Giles had only been able to give each other terrified looks across the table: Buffy at the thought of her baby sister driving, and Giles at the thought of Buffy teaching her baby sister how to drive.

It was something that Buffy had always just assumed that Xander would do. He'd talked a couple of times about taking Dawn out to drive around in a parking lot or something before life in Sunnydale went directly to hell. Apparently he'd promised her driving lessons during the summer that Buffy had spent dead. They'd never quite managed to get around to it. And now Xander was off in Africa somewhere hunting down new Slayers for the Council, working like a man possessed. Possessed with grief for Anya, Buffy knew, and probably regret. She really, really understood that.

Even so, Buffy missed him. Xander was a constant in her life that she'd never really appreciated before now. He had always been so good at reading her moods and helping her find the bright side of life—something she needed a lot of help with these days. Not to mention that he was great at deflecting tension, especially between her and Dawn. And he'd always had some kind of weird understanding with Giles, too, a way of getting him off his rants that Buffy never quite managed. Buffy hated that she couldn't help now that he was the one hurting and so far away.

She could only hope that Willow somehow managed to talk to him every once in a while, because Buffy suspected that Xander really needed a voice of common sense. The reports he sent back to Giles were getting more and more terse, and detailing more and more reckless behavior. Whenever she looked up from reading her friend's latest missive, she would find Giles watching her, brows creased with the same worry.

Suicidal, his eyes said, and Buffy knew he was right.

Buffy was shaken from her thoughts yet again by the buzz of her cellphone vibrating. Scrabbling with gloved fingers, she finally managed to work it out of her pocket to read Dawn's name on the display. She let out a heavy sigh that froze in the air in front of her, already suspecting what she'd hear as she answered, “Let me guess. Leah wants you to come over for the weekend.”

“Buffy, please?” Dawn begged in that whiny tone that only annoying little sisters could perfect. “There's a new movie showing at the old theater down the street from school and everyone is going! And it's all in French! Not even English subtitles! It's like practically educational.”

“You are so full of it,” Buffy scoffed, but there was affection in her tone. “Do you have homework to do?”

“Only one tiny little group project. And Leah is in my group! I can come by the house and pick my books up when I get my sleepover stuff.”

“Well...” Even though she kept her voice reluctant, Buffy turned around and started back towards the house. Dawn may spend most of her time with her friends these days, but those friends also happened to be the top five percent of their class, according to school records that Giles made her swear she'd never seen. Buffy knew they'd get the project done. “...I guess it's fine. As long as you get your work done before you start the crazy partying.”

Dawn's squeal of delight momentarily overpowered the wind in Buffy's other ear. “You're the best sister ever!”

Buffy smiled. “This week maybe.”

Her sister was already on to more exciting things. “Love you!” Before Buffy could reply, the line cut off.

The smile still hovering around her mouth, Buffy moved down the walk double-time, the wind at her back now as she rounded the corner to the drive. Maybe she'd call Willow when she got back to the house, or try writing Xander a letter or something. Did they have mailmen in Sudan?

Her phone rang again and the Slayer grinned, answering without bothering to check the display. “Yeah yeah, I love you too.”

“Ah...” Giles' voice was a weird mix of alarmed, touched and shocked: a combination that Buffy had never heard all at once before, except from him.

“Oh. Sorry Giles,” she said without any kind of apology in her voice. “Thought you were Dawn.”

He cleared his throat, and Buffy could almost see him taking off his glasses to polish against the rising awkward. “Yes. Well, I can't say I particularly object, even if I do have the sudden suspicion that the world is about to end in some terrible fashion every time I hear it.”

“Nope,” she answered brightly. The fog was lifting from her senses and she found herself smiling pointlessly. “Just the love-Buffy striking again. What's up?”

“Right,” he said, and in an instant Buffy sobered at the change in his tone. She knew that tone. “Buffy...”

Buffy's eyes closed against the wind, and at that moment she felt old. Old and gray and stripped and blown away, just like the trees above her. “What happened?”

“Kennedy is dead.” The matter-of-fact way he said it made her gut clench.

“How?” she gritted out.

“She and Willow were evacuating a village near their headquarters from a fire when a nest of demons attacked. Kennedy faced them single-handedly. She died so the rest could escape safely.”

Buffy felt sick, and she was almost glad, because at least she felt something. She started moving again. “Willow saw it.” It wasn't a question, and there was a weight to it that Giles, best of all people, understood.

“Yes,” he said tightly. There was fear in his voice. “And she's gone. Lord, Buffy, she's gone, and I don't--”

And that's when Buffy saw her, huddled in a little ball on the porch, her red hair blowing in the wind. “She's here, Giles. She's on our porch.”

“Oh, thank heaven.” The relief in his voice had too many layers in it. “I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

Buffy hung up the phone and mounted the last few steps to the porch silently. She knelt down in front of her friend. “Willow?”

Willow looked up and Buffy saw the tears on her face. “She's dead, Buffy.”

“I know,” Buffy whispered. She leaned in and put her arms around the other woman, and then helped her to her feet. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let's get you in out of the wind.”

The wind screamed against the house again, but Buffy ignored it. It was just the sounds of ghosts, and ghosts weren't real. Right now, she had a friend to worry about. And eventually, one more to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any of you that might have been upset by the death of Kennedy: I'm sorry.
> 
> To everyone else in this fandom: Yeah, I didn't like her either.


	3. Winter (Wilow)

**  
_Winter  
(Willow)_   
**

****

_“Look round and round upon this bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter's day, how beautiful the shadows are! Alas! it is the nature of their kind to be so. The loveliest things in life, Tom, are but shadows; and they come and go, and change and fade away, as rapidly as these!”_

 ****

Willow felt like winter on the inside. Parts of her seemed frozen, and clear pictures fluttered and dissolved in her mind's eye like melting snowflakes in a blizzard. It took her a while to put the bits and pieces of time back together into days.

She took her memories in moments, starting when she took one last look at the empty bed in their room (her room now, and soon to be no one's) in Brazil, closed her eyes, and murmured the words of magic escape like a prayer. A second for when she'd shown up on Buffy and Giles' porch with nothing more than the clothes on her back—clothes still stained with blood on the sleeves. It was Kennedy's blood, of course. Willow had tried not to think about that; tried to not even say the name, in case it broke something inside of her. She'd thought, for a few fragile seconds, that she could even look at the stains without breaking down, as long as she didn't tell anyone the blood was Kennedy's.

Of course, that hadn't worked. She was already crying when the teleport spell released her onto the porch that first day, where Buffy found her a minute later. She was sobbing almost as soon as Buffy got her inside. The Slayer had her changed into someone's pajamas and bundled into one of the spare rooms before Giles could even make it home from the Council. Willow had managed to collect herself enough to answer a few basic questions from Giles. She'd even managed to give Dawn a big hug and an almost-smile when she got home from school.

She remembered the oddest things from those conversations: the quiet, unexpected calmness of Buffy, the extra lines around Giles' sympathetic eyes, the odd boniness of Dawn's elbows in the middle of a warm, ungainly hug. The gaping hole on Buffy's left side that wasn't Xander, even though it was supposed to be. The odd pauses where she expected someone to talk, only to realize that she was the one not saying anything.

Then they left her blissfully alone, and she fell back into the bed and cried until she was sick. Things went a little fuzzy after that.

The whole rest of that first day and all of the next four just stopped making sense to Willow for a while. She was almost thankful for it. No sense was better than bad sense. She seemed to remember her mom saying something like that a lot when she was younger, but she didn't have the energy to remember very well, and soon the thought crept away into the darkness like all the others.

The insanity of the emergency evacuation of the Sao Paulo complex, of fighting the fire that had ravaged the surrounding villages, of watching Kennedy fall dead at the hands of a demon just yards away, and finally of the spell she'd used to transport here all took their toll, and the young witch let herself be swept out of the objective world on a tide of tiredness and sorrow. In the half-seconds where she let herself admit it, Willow wondered how much of her mourning was for Kennedy, and how much was for herself. Kennedy was another love gone, though a different kind of love this time, one that maybe wasn't rooted so deep.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Willow knew that most of the tiredness came from the no-prep spell she'd performed to get here. Her balance was off, too much power expended at once, and it would take time for her to recover.

Life was reduced to weird little snippets of clear pictures that came and went with soft white edges. Willow knew that the others came in and out occasionally, but she could never concentrate on them for very long.

Buffy would wake her from her tearful stupor and coax her with food and drink that she barely touched. Willow often thought that in those moments, Buffy looked just like Joyce, with the same still understanding in her eyes. She was warm and centered; this was Buffy as nature intended, a woman and a Slayer without Sunnydale attached to her shadow. Though she hardly ever talked, Willow thought that maybe Buffy understood best of all what this felt like. It was nice to have a best friend around again. Buffy was the one that convinced her to change pajamas every once in a while, and left a hairbrush on the nightstand.

Dawn came in every day after school just to check on her. Dawn looked like herself, but grown up and filled out in ways she hadn't been when Willow last saw her. The awkward, bookish chess buddy Willow remembered was slowly growing into a woman with a sense of kindness that left a warm feeling in the room. Unlike Buffy, Dawn talked all the time. Willow hardly caught any of it, but the teen didn't seem to mind. Most days Willow just let the babble wash over her head, details of school and friends and boys creating a kind of cocoon around the bed while she was there. The little things like that helped Willow focus, bit by bit, but they left her tired from trying to keep up. She always dropped off to sleep almost as soon as Dawn left to do her homework down in the kitchen.

Someone even came to make sure the blankets were tucked in around her and the lights were turned off at night. Those were mostly done by Giles, and more than once in those first few confused days, the last thing Willow registered before she drifted back into her exhausted slumber was Giles' concerned face looking down at her, and his hand brushing her hair from her forehead. Every once in a while Willow would wake up in the middle of the night and see the Watcher folded onto the window seat across the room, sound asleep, with an open book resting on his chest. Sometimes she thought he looked much older than he had back in Sunnydale; other times, in the moonlight, he just looked more human.

Not many other pictures stuck with her. The shadows moving along the walls marked time for her in lights and darks. Mostly, she just heard noises: the rumbling sound of the heat turning on, creaking footsteps on the floorboards outside the room, the low thrum of cars pulling in and out of the drive beneath her window, and most of all the low murmur of voices.

The voices were a little confusing to her discombobulated brain. Not everything was in English. Sometimes she heard Buffy and Giles talking in low, serious tones, and sometimes she heard Dawn laughing. A few times she thought for sure that she heard Xander's voice right there in the room with her, but even in her hazy state, Willow knew that she was only imagining it. She wished that he would come through the door, even thought about reaching out into the connections inside herself to find him, but she was far too weak to really consider it.

The bits of Willow that weren't mourning Kennedy (or was it only the idea of Kennedy?) found the energy to miss Xander instead. She spent time remembering yellow crayons and Snoopy pajamas and fire trucks. She found herself thinking that if her best friend really were here with her, he'd find a way to fix things for her again, at least a little. One night, Willow dreamed that she was calling his name through a thick fog, but he never answered. She woke up wondering why he wasn't there, and if he even knew that he was supposed to be. She tried to ask Buffy about Xander next time the Slayer came in to check on her, but her friend's face darkened and she wouldn't answer, except for a slow shake of her head.

Once--just once--on the morning of the sixth day, Willow heard Kennedy's voice speak to her, warm and low, and even though she couldn't understand the words, it felt like she agreed with them.

“Kennedy,” she whispered to the warm air. No one answered, but she felt a vague warm feeling in her heart, like an embrace. Everything's connected, she heard her own voice saying. Even her and Kennedy, though for now there was a veil between them. That was starting to be a little OK. Willow realized all at once that she was going to be alright. Eventually.

Her eyes opened all at once to see the ceiling above her as her body was released from its healing sleep. For the first time in days, Willow really felt awake.

The room was empty, but it didn't hurt her eyes to look at it any more. It was just an ordinary room now, instead of a weird swath of lights and angles in her head. She carefully moved to sit on the side of the bed, taking in the soft blues and greens of the quilt, and the bright pink of the pajamas she was wearing.

The house was quiet except for the low hum of the furnace, and the only light was dim, trickling in from outside. Willow's eyes were drawn to the window, for a moment just staring blankly out at the flat gray world beyond the glass. That was when the snow started to fall, as if on cue, like it had just been waiting for her to look.

She stood up and wrapped the quilt around her as she walked over to the window, lowering herself onto the padded sill so she could watch as the world turned soft and white and muffled throughout the afternoon. For a long time, she just breathed in and out, and let her breath fog up the glass as she counted the snowflakes that passed her view.

Willow just breathed for a while, and centered on the beating of her heart. It didn't hurt so much to be aware and awake anymore, and she was grateful for it. The snow continued falling unabated. Bit by bit, the dark ground beneath her disappeared under a blanket of white. It was like watching a rebirth; the kind of wiping clean and starting over that she'd learned so much about at the coven in Devon all those months ago. Leave it to mother nature to do it so literally.

Her moment of serenity was interrupted when a little red four-door pulled up outside the house. Willow watched as Buffy and Dawn got out of the car, making grabs for bags and purses as the snow began to coat them. A little smile edged the witch's lips as Dawn paused to throw her head back. Even from a story up, Willow could tell the teen was trying to catch a snowflake on her tongue. A second later, to Willow's surprise, Buffy joined her sister. Bags forgotten, the Summers sisters dodged this way and that, chasing after flakes with their mouths open. Soon they were laughing too hard to really catch anything, but it didn't seem to matter. Willow found herself smiling down at them; the expression hurt her face a little, but in a good way.

They got so distracted by their game that they were still outside five minutes later when Giles' black car pulled up the drive to park next to them. The Watcher paused halfway out of the car, and even from twenty feet up and in the fading light, Willow thought she could see the smile forming on his face as he watched Buffy and Dawn frolicking in the snow, oblivious to their audience.

Willow couldn't see his expression, but his intent was hard to miss when he stooped down to scoop up a handful of snow and mold it between his gloved hands. Buffy's Slayer sense apparently wasn't up to Watcher-thrown snowballs—the icy projectile hit her square in the back of the head. The ensuing shriek reached Willow through the window. She found herself laughing as Dawn and Buffy proceeded to gang up on Giles. At some point snowballs were discarded entirely, and the whole thing ended with Buffy catching Giles around the waist and tackling him right into the snow, with Dawn laughing and shrieking above them. Giles surrendered without much of a fight, flopping down and spreading out his arms above his head like he was making snow angels.

Willow was completely unsurprised when he took Buffy's offered hand, meant to help him stand, and yanked her right down into the snow with it.

She felt the smile stretching her face, hurting a little, and decided it was a nice feeling. This moment, right here right now, watching Buffy and Dawn and Giles playing in the snow like normal people, this was good. She could handle good like she could handle the bad, just a moment at a time.

Willow took a deep breath, and then she went downstairs to find out where Giles kept the hot chocolate. They were gonna be freezing when they finally made it inside.

 

The next day found them all pretty much snowed in. Dawn stayed home from school even though she had a paper due, Giles stayed home from work even though the world might end without him in the office, and Buffy packed up her computer and declared a day of winter festivities. That meant an old movies marathon for the girls in the afternoon, and probably some quiet reading time for Giles. But all that had gotten delayed by Dawn's idea at breakfast.

“A snowman!” she declared suddenly, pancake-loaded fork suspended between her plate and her mouth. “We need to make a snowman! We've never had enough snow to make one before! I mean, not snow that wasn't some freaky side-effect of the Hellmouth, anyway.”

“Yeah!” Buffy agreed enthusiastically, much to Willow's surprise. “We can give it a carrot nose and everything! And we have a load of extra scarves in the closet!”

Giles raised an eyebrow at her. “I feel the need to point out that just because they're mine does not mean they are extra.”

Willow poked her tongue out at him a little when she grinned. “Come on, can't'cha spare one little scarf for a poor naked snowman?”

Dawn giggled hysterically, oblivious to the eye roll Giles was indulging in at their total lack of maturity. “Maybe that's why they freeze? Because they're actually naked people who just get frozen to the ground and then the snow--” she cut off abruptly as the three adults in the room stared at her with various degrees of horror.

Buffy shook her head, stifling a grin. “You have spent way too much time living on a Hellmouth,” she informed her sister. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood, carrying her plate over to the sink. “Now you go find a scarf and I'll get us a carrot. And find your warm coat!” That last was drowned out by Dawn's excited noise as the teen dashed from the kitchen, not even bothering to clean up her place.

With a belabored sigh, Buffy collected up Dawn's dishes and piled them into the sink with all the bowls Giles had used to make pancakes for them. The Slayer turned to them and grinned. “You guys wanna help? Dawn always used to make me promise that if it ever snowed, I'd use my Slayer strength to make the biggest snowman in the world.”

Giles' mouth twitched at that. “I've had quite enough snow in my hair to last me the week, thank you. Besides, there are dishes to be done.”

Buffy easily ignored the mild reprimand in his gaze and looked over at Willow. “Will? Snowman central?”

Willow smiled and shook her head. “Nah, you guys go on. I'll help Mr. Responsibility with the dishes.”

Her friend smiled back, and reached out to give the witch an impulsive hug. “I love you, you know,” Buffy said into her ear. “I missed you.”

“You too,” Willow managed to get out. Then Buffy was grabbing her coat, and soon the two Summers sisters were tromping out the kitchen door towards the garden, carrot and scarf in hand.

Giles watched them go with such an affectionate look on his face that Willow couldn't help teasing him a little as they moved over to the sink. “You know you're nothin' but a big softie?”

He ducked his head and smiled, which was as good as a yes.

Something about the quiet warmth of the kitchen made her ask, out of the blue, “Have you heard from Xander?”

Giles' expression darkened. “I had hoped that you'd been keeping in contact with him.”

“Not since his birthday,” Willow admitted. “I was worried when he stopped writing. I thought he was...you know. Trying to figure things out.”

“So did I,” Giles sighed. “But now I fear...” he trailed off for a moment, watching the girls playing outside. Finally he let out a long breath and focused back on the plate in his hands. “His reports are...worrying. When you're up to it, I'd appreciate a third set of eyes reading through them. Buffy and I haven't managed to determine much.”

“I'll look at them this afternoon,” Willow promised. A dull fear throbbed in her chest, one that had been there for longer than she realized and was only just getting recognized. She'd try centering soon—tomorrow, maybe today. She'd reach out to Xander and see what she could find.

They got to work on the dishes. Willow washed and Giles dried and put away, and all the while they watched Dawn and Buffy outside making their snowman. At some point the sun had come out. The whiteness of the snow was almost blinding, and the sisters' shadows flowed out long and thin behind them, dancing on the ground.

Willow didn't notice that she'd zoned out until Giles put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Willow?” She startled and turned to him, the warmth so apparent in his gaze making this moment seem weirdly familiar to her. His voice was soft, and he didn't move the hand on her shoulder as he asked, “How are you? Really?”

Willow avoided his gaze a moment to look out at the half-formed snowman being shaped in the yard. “I think I'm going to be OK, Giles. I really do. This moment right here? I can handle this.”

“I don't doubt it,” he replied with a soft smile. He hesitated a moment, and then cleared his throat. “...Will you stay?”

She thought about that for a moment. This place was home for Giles, and for Buffy and Dawn. Willow could tell just by watching. That meant it could be hers, too. For now, at least.

Time with her favorite people, her family. The best updates on Xander and whatever he'd gotten himself into now. Something to do at the new Council, she was sure, whenever she got around to feeling up to it. A place to heal, and weather out the winter.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “I can stay. For a little while, anyway.”

That was enough. Giles patted her shoulder again and went to start the coffeemaker.

Willow felt his comforting presence, and she thought about Kennedy and Tara and Sunnydale and Xander. Finally her mind settled, and she looked out the window and watched as Summers shadows chased each other, laughing, across the bright white snow.


	4. Spring (Xander)

**  
_Spring  
(Xander)_   
**

****

_“Spring makes everything young again, save man.”_

 ****

When Xander finally set foot on British soil again on a windy, cold-bright day in April, it was a year to the day since he'd dropped everything and run for Africa. Eighteen months since Sunnydale—since Anya—well. Felt like more. Not long enough to get over it, or anything.

Most of Africa was a blur; a bright, loud, stifling, green-and-orange streak. Xander felt dusty and pretty worn around the edges. He felt older, too. He barely noticed the missing eye any more--no, that was a lie, he noticed it all the time, but he could tell himself that he didn't notice it, and that was pretty good--but his left shoulder ached from where he'd yanked it out of its socket last month, and his ribs were still bruised from a run-in with a Kafrit demon in Zimbabwe.

He'd been sleeping on a makeshift cot in a relief center in Bulawayo when it happened.

 _Xander,_ Willow's voice whispered in his head, and he'd felt a tug in the middle of his chest, and he'd gotten up and left. He was pretty sure it wasn't a summoning or whatever—more like some freaky cosmic, _Are you still there?_ It was only then that he realized that he hadn't actually filed an official report at the Council in about three months. He'd just been sending Slayers back when he could, and he hadn't bothered with the rest.

So, yeah, legitimate cause for worry. There were probably like a thousand carefully repressed freaking-out messages from Giles sitting in his in-box back in the Council station in Nairobi, and way more than a thousand seriously-freaking-out emails from Willow.

Still, remembering the Slayers he'd met and the friends he'd made (good thing he was friendly, because it turned out that having trustworthy translators was kind of a big deal) gave him a sense of...well. Not peace. Xander wasn't sure peace was on the menu any more. Satisfaction, maybe? That was pretty close. Anyway, he could sorta sleep at night now, for the most part, and somewhere along the way he'd worked out some of the guilt and some of the pain. Not much, but some.

Xander shifted his one bag on his shoulder and looked around. Crowds didn't bother him, but it was weird to be in England again. The light was more gray, and it felt closer around his head, cooler. Africa had been brighter, more colorful, hotter, louder. Looking back on it now, it seemed like a weird dream.

 _Time to come home,_ Willow's voice had told him in a dream two weeks ago, and he listened. Not so much because it was her voice saying it, but because he'd been thinking it too. He wasn't really sure where home was, exactly, but he figured that wherever Willow and Buffy and Dawn and Giles were, it was probably close. Now that Anya was gone, that was all he had.

He'd been half-expecting Willow or someone he knew to be standing here waiting for him. Now that they weren't, he realized he was going to have to figure something out on his own.

He could always go to Council headquarters (he knew where that was, at least), but the idea of getting bombarded by a bunch of strangers hunting him down about his missing paperwork made him wince at thin air. Giles would probably be there, even if it was Sunday afternoon. But Giles was running the Council now, and he was probably on some list of the top ten most super-secret influential guys in the world. “Old friends” didn't seem to hold as much weight as it used to, as access passes went.

Besides, he was pretty sure that Buffy wouldn't spend much time at the Council, even if she was in England and not off doing her world-tour deal with Dawn. He didn't doubt that Willow was here, because she was the one that had told him to come in the first place, but he didn't think she'd be at the Council either. Or would she be there because that's where she figured he'd come to find her?

“Great,” he muttered to himself in frustration. A passing woman gave him a weird look over the strap of her huge red purse. Xander flashed her something like a smile and kept moving out into the sunlight. He stopped at the curb, but he didn't try to flag down a cab, because he had no idea where he was going. He found an empty bench to sit on instead.

It hadn't occurred to him to feel nervous until just now. He hadn't seen anyone in a year—he hadn't even written for ages. Giles was probably furious at him; he'd been so all-business-all-the-time when Xander left, he had probably barely noticed the younger man was gone, except when the reports stopped coming in. Or maybe he wasn't angry at all—maybe he was just that same kind of focused tired that he'd been near the end back in Sunnydale, and he'd just give Xander that half-smile and then forget he existed again. Xander wasn't sure which one he'd hate more.

He wasn't sure what kind of welcome back he'd get from Buffy, either. The Slayer in her'd been itching to get out of Dodge, out of England, and probably out of her own skin. Xander hadn't blamed her at the time, but he hadn't been able to talk about Spike or Anya or the crap that Sunnydale made of their friendship, either. They hadn't really talked much after...after, both too wrapped up in their own stuff to be able to do the best-bud thing. He'd barely said goodbye when she left with Dawn.

Oh, holy crap. Dawn. She was probably in school somewhere by now; he realized with a pang that he'd completely missed her turning seventeen. He wondered if she and Buffy were still trotting around as Council-funded tourists, or if they'd settled down. Maybe Buffy had left her sister with the G-man to get a proper English education. Dawn would be pissed at him for running off for a year, no doubt about it. Still, Xander was pretty sure that she'd at least be happy to see him.

It never once occurred to him that Willow wouldn't be wherever he ended up going, waiting for him. She'd been the one leaving the insane telepathic trans-continental voicemail, after all. Willow was Willow, and even though she'd probably spent the last year doing crazy magic and sunbathing on weird foreign beaches with Kennedy, they'd be fine eventually. She's probably kick his butt for going incommunicado, but he deserved it.

 _You'll know the way,_ her message-thing had reassured him. He'd woken up thinking about Willow and the fire truck when they were six, and the sound of Giles' voice in the library stacks, and the light on Buffy's face when she'd stood on the ragged edge of the hole that used to be Sunnydale.

Alright, so he did know where to go. Giles had sent him the address to the house he'd bought last year, and it was still in the bottom of the suitcase somewhere.

 _You can't hide forever._ Xander knew this to be true, and he was tired of trying. He stood up and went to hail a cab.

 

The house wasn't what Xander expected. The cab dropped him off at the end of the driveway and he took his time walking up, observing the wide front porch and the comfortable, homey look the whole thing exuded. It looked more like something the old Giles would have picked out, but maybe that wasn't so surprising, considering. There were no cars anywhere; Xander wasn't sure if he was grateful for the chance to ease in, or worried that Giles only came home once a month. He could probably sleep on the porch.

The door was locked—that surprised him more than anything else. At some point he'd just figured Giles was incapable of locking doors as long as one of them was outside. Xander stopped there on the porch, something a lot like fear building in his chest. His fingers clenched white around the strap of his bag. No one was home. He could get out of here and they'd never have to know.

“You're an idiot,” he told himself firmly. “It's just the people you've been ignoring for a year.” He missed them. He decided to try around the back; his cellphone was dead, but maybe Giles left the back door open.

He left his bag on the porch and rounded the far corner of the house. He had a brief impression of a garden and a bench and lots of green, but then there was Giles.

The Watcher was levering to his feet from where he'd been kneeling in a row of flowers Xander didn't recognize. He was wearing mud-smeared jeans and a t-shirt, his hair longer than before. When he glanced up and caught sight of the long-lost Scooby he froze; Xander noticed abstractly that he wasn't wearing glasses and there was a long line of dirt across his forehead, probably from wiping it with his hand.

“Good Lord,” Giles breathed.

Xander cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah. Sorry I didn't call. Nice place you--”

There was a blur on his blind side that made him flinch, and then Giles had his arms around him in the biggest, warmest, most unselfconscious hug Xander had ever received. There was a moment when his senses screamed run fight run move! But the urge was drowned out immediately by the smell of old books and warm earth and Giles' hand firm on the back of his neck. Xander gave in and let his head rest against the other man's shoulder. The world began to resettle into something like home and safe and about dang time.

“You're here,” Giles laughed. “Thank heaven. We thought--”

It was only then he realized what exactly those months of nothing had done—to his family, to Giles of all people.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I'm really sorry.”

Giles cleared his throat and stepped back. It was a little late to be embarrassed by the emotional stuff, considering Mr. Repressable had just given him a bear hug. Xander offered a weak little smile. “Miss me?”

Something darkened in Giles' green eyes, an unfamiliar expression. “If you ever,” he enunciated slowly, pointing a dirty finger at Xander's chest, “Do that again, I will not be responsible for what Buffy does to you. Not to mention you will be quite fired. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” Xander gulped. He squeezed his eye shut in anticipation for the coming lecture. When it didn't come, he opened it again to find Giles smiling at him: a real smile. There was no head of the Council here, just a friend.

“Welcome back,” he said instead. “The girls should be back soon, and in the meantime we can get you settled.”

There were a few too many new things in that sentence for Xander to process all of them. He started with the most obvious. “I don't want to put you out. I can stay at a hotel.”

Giles led him over to a door at the back of the house that led into a cool, airy kitchen. He sent Xander a speaking look over his shoulder, and that ended that discussion.

Xander noticed the pile of textbooks on the table that looked pretty high school, and the pink apron hanging on one of the hooks by the doorway that looked like it led into the front hall. That seemed a good opening to ask, “Girls?”

“Buffy and Dawn, naturally. Dawn's in school down the road and doing very well. Buffy has been consulting at the Council.”

“What, like an apocalypse expert?

“Something like it, yes. She's also been writing the new Slayer handbook.”

“Wow.” Somehow, that kind of worked. He'd have to read it. “How long's this been going on?”

Giles paused at the sink, water running over his hands, as if he really had to think about it. “Oh...last summer. Amazing how the time flies, really.”

Xander felt his eyebrows hike. He settled onto one of the stools at the island and reached for a book. He was amazed at how easy this was, like he'd never left. Giles handed him a glass of water without asking if he wanted it and yeah, he'd been living with rude American girls for a year. Xander accepted it gratefully and took a long gulp. “Where's the Willster? Thought she'd be here.”

This time Giles raised an eyebrow, and the expression was deeply familiar. Xander felt a little giddy. “Did you? She's been in Pilau. She did mention she might stop in soon.”

Xander blinked. “What? No, she--”

The front door banged open.

“Since when do we lock this?” Buffy's voice called out. “Did someone break in again?”

Dawn's voice rode right over her sister's as she shouted, “I got an A on that test! Buffy owes me money!”

Xander didn't have even a little control over himself; he was tearing up by the time they appeared in the kitchen door and stopped dead, just like Giles had.

Dawn was a good three inches taller and her hair was shorter, and she was dressed like a preppy English chick, which kinda worked for her. Buffy was...Buffy was herself. But older, and healthier, and Xander knew just from looking in her eyes that Sunnydale didn't stalk her footsteps quite as much these days.

“Where have you been?” Dawn demanded. She marched straight up to him, glared, and smacked him in the chest. “You jerk!”

“Hey!”

“Dawn!”

Dawn started crying and he reached out. There was a couple minutes of confusion after that, while Buffy and Dawn both tried to hug him at once. Elbows and ribs and a knee got in the way, but then he was settled with one in either arm, theirs passed firmly around his waist. He clenched his eye shut against the tears and buried his face in Buffy's hair, and all was right in the world.

“You are a jerk,” Buffy told him as she withdrew. Dawn stayed tucked firmly into his side and he didn't try to move her. “If you ever do that again--”

“You'll slay me,” he finished with a grin he'd forgotten he had. “G-man made that clear.” He looked her square in the eyes and there was an understanding there he'd missed a whole lot, the last couple years. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be. Did it help?”

“Yeah. A little. I think.”

She put a hand on his arm and smiled, that sad one they'd all gotten so good at. He caught Giles' eye over her shoulder. “That room still open?”

“Oh!” Dawn grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the stairs. “We have a room made up for you! It's got your favorite colors and everything!”

“Have a bag?” Buffy called after them.

“On the porch.”

She turned to Giles. “See? This is what happens when we lock the door!”

“Well, I'm terribly sorry that in the midst of threatening apocalypse and multiple threats on both our lives, I thought to ensure a little safety!”

“You lost your key again, didn't you.”

“Wow,” Xander muttered.

Dawn grimaced. “I know. It's like having _parents._ ”

He laughed and let himself be dragged into his room.

 

There was a lot to catch up on. Xander heard about Dawn's driving lessons (“Seriously, Xander, I can't take it any more, and she put Giles' car in the shop. You have to take her.”) and the work at the Council (“We could use someone here, that is if you're...well, I mean to say that--” “If you don't stay here for a while I'll never talk to you again, and neither will he.” “Yes, thank you Buffy, that's not _quite_ what I meant.”), and then around the second day, Dawn mentioned that Kennedy was dead.

That changed things a little. After Dawn had gone to bed on his second night, he sat down with Buffy at the kitchen island and learned all the bad stuff. Kennedy, Angel's whole gang, a few apocalypses he'd barely noticed in Africa, a round of the flu that had sent all of them to sickbeds for a month. They talked about life and memories and even a little about Spike and Anya. Giles occasionally wandered in from work in his study, quietly interjecting before moving out again. He and Buffy had apparently gotten over that whole secrets thing during this last year.

Finally, Xander thought to ask something that had been bugging him since he showed up at the airport. “Hey, where's Will? I thought she'd be here, with the whole psychic message thing.”

“What psychic message thing?” Willow's voice asked from the door.

They both spun around to see her standing there smiling, a laptop case on her shoulder and a suitcase on her feet. “Hi!” She said brightly. “I came as soon as you called.”

He stood up and walked over and hugged her. They just stayed that way for what seemed like forever, until eventually Buff came over and joined them and they all just stood there in a comfortable tangle of arms and heads and hearts. “Wait!” he looked down at them. “Who called you? You called me!”

“We called her when you got here, doofus. Giles!” Buffy shouted. “Look who showed up!”

The four of them ended up out on the porch. Giles handed out mugs of cider that eased off the cool night. They all crowded into each other, with Willow's legs pressed into his where they sat side by side, Buffy and Giles seated across the bottom two steps like a human gate.

Willow was the same as ever pressed up against him, but there was a stillness to her now, an extra layer of shadows around her smile that must come from losing two lovers in the same amount of years. He didn't know her perfectly anymore, but he still knew her best. The thought relieved him. Life was wrong without her, after all this time. They'd be alright.

Buffy stretched out on the step below their feet, mug balanced on one raised knee. She was different too, more grown-up and centered. She was like...like the picture of her he'd always had in his head, just now come to life, now that most of the dying and the losing and the dark seemed to be over with. It looked good on her, this settling down to the never-quite-normal life they'd talked about way back when they thought they'd have a future.

Giles sat with his head facing Buffy, one knee bent on the step and the other planted on the ground. Buffy was half-leaning against his leg and he seemed at ease here, glancing out into the yard occasionally but mostly watching the three of them above him. He caught Xander's eyes and there was a peace there that made the world seem safe. Giles was better now—he'd been not right for that last stretch in Sunnydale, they all had, but it was fixed for him, now.

Maybe, someday, it would be fixed for all of them. Sitting here, he could believe it.

So Xander took a deep breath, and he talked. He talked about Africa, about finding translators and Slayers, about feeling angry and then empty. And then he talked about the message that had gotten him out of Kenya, out of Africa, and back here.

They all processed it for a bit. Finally Willow shook her head. “Well it definitely wasn't me. Your signal has been all...all tangled up and twisty. It was too hard to pinpoint you to send a message. Though if you'd stayed gone any longer I probably would have tried.” She hit him on the shoulder, and he deserved far worse so he feigned pain.

“Well who the heck was it then? Because that's a pretty freaky mind trick, and it definitely sounded like--” It smacked him upside the head, then, and for a second the world went white and he wanted to cry. When his vision cleared they were all staring at him with concern.

“Anya,” he choked out. “It sounded a lot like Anya.”

“Ah,” Giles said with a soft little smile on his face. When they all turned to look, he shook his head. “I wondered,” he admitted. “Story for another time.”

Willow was looking at Xander sideways. “You're staying, aren't you?”

In the end, he didn't even have to think about it. “Yeah. I mean, where else would I be?”

“Here here,” Buffy smiled. They clicked their mugs together in a toast.

 _Welcome home,_ Xander thought, and this time it was his voice alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written-oh, a long time ago now, but I'm still glad I wrote it. These characters are so lovely, I am glad for any excuse to spend time with them.
> 
> Thank you for your reading time! How did you like it? Feel free to drop me a line.


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